Chapter 3
Karen's state of coma lasted for hours, gradually giving way to a fitful sleep. Delirious dreams plagued her which finally quieted into restful slumber. DeWilde, eventually becoming a little uneasy, looked in on her from time to time. He noted the change when her heavy breathing indicated the beginning of a real sleep and, less worried, went to bed himself. He used the bedroom next to the one she was in so that he'd hear her if she awakened. He didn't really like to sleep with women; much preferred to finish off his sexual experiences in a bed all to himself.
He slept soundly, waking up around nine Sunday morning. His first thought was of Karen and the day before. Jesus, what a fuck. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about it. He relived every second of it, enjoying his sensations a second time; enjoying the feeling of the erection which the memory gave him.
He yawned a couple of times, caressing his erect cock with an affectionate touch. He really loved his cock, he reflected. It was the most wonderful thing he had, even finer than his successful publishing business, his beautiful home, his fine car. He loved all of those things, too; but above all he loved his beautiful cock.
He stretched, stood up and removed his shorts, the only sleeping garment he ever wore. He went into the bathroom and urinated, having great difficulty in hitting the bowl because of the way his cock was sticking up in the air. He had to bend over, squat a little and push it down to make it pee into the fixture.
Relieved, he brushed his teeth and removed a jar of sun tan cream from the medicine chest. With this in his hand he strode purposefully across his bedroom and into Karen's.
The girl was awake and conscious. At least, her eyes were open, looking upwards as she lay on her back. DeWilde noted a bad bruise on her wrist where he had held her so tightly. Her cheek and eye were discolored where he had slapped her and there were some scratches around her mouth; from when he had gagged her, probably. He regretted slightly that he had made her look this way. She wasn't anywhere nearly so pretty as she had been yesterday, but what the hell-she'd heal, and there wasn't anything wrong with that nice little cunt which had so delighted him.
"Good morning, sweetie," he said jovially. "How's my girl today?"
There was no reply. Even her eyes did hot turn toward him. Only her regular breathing indicated that she was living.
He moved to the side of the bed, threw his shoulders back and thrust his hips forward. He swung his hips from side to side so that the erect cock with the purple head wiggled in response.
"See that beautiful thing, baby?" he asked. "Let's have a little morning fuckie fuckie and then I'll drive you back to town." Slowly, with relish, he opened the sun tan cream, dabbled his fingers in it and began to work it into the skin of his prick.
"This will make is easier on both of us," he explained. "To tell you the truth, my cock is still a little sore from yesterday. How did you ever manage to keep such a tight twat?"
No reply. Completing his lubrication, he took hold of the bed covers and flung them back across the foot. Karen lay absolutely unmoving; stared at the ceiling, hands thrown upward above her head, utterly passive.
Something about her acquiescence excited him more than her violent resistance of yesterday. He wasn't going to have to fight her this time-she was just going to lay there and let him feel the flesh of her body surround his, let him dump his semen into her without resisting. Good. That's what women were meant to be, basically. A receptacle for his semen.
Now let's see, how should he do her? From the side, with her leg thrown Tip over his belly, so he could watch her tits jiggle as he rammed her? Or maybe roll her over onto her hands and knees so that he could fuck her dog-fashion and watch his cock slide in and out of her twat? Maybe he should lay on his back and make her ride the pony? That way he could watch her tits and see his cock working in her too.
It was a hell of a decision to make. As he pondered he looked down at her bare body, white flesh gleaming in the bright daylight of the room, ripe breasts moving gently with the rhythm of her breathing, golden hair concealing the crevice of her womanhood. His brutal cock gave a pulse with excitement and he thought, what the hell-fuck her the ordinary way. It's usually the best.
He threw himself on top of her, crushing her into the bed. Frantically his hands searched between them found his tool and aimed it into the proper place. He hunched up his thighs and gave a thrust and in one motion his cock slid into her body and all the way home.
Karen's uterine passages were still full of the liquid with which he had injected her the day before since she had hardly moved since he dropped her on the bed, and with the lubrication which he had applied to himself he entered her, if not easily, at least without fierce resistance. He felt their pubic hair make contact as his cock head bottomed out against her spine; enjoyed the sensation of the lips of her vulva being stretched tightly around the base of his shaft. He even thought he could feel her little clitoris pressing up against the bone above the base of his cock.
Oh, God, ecstasy. He was getting the greatest fucking from the greatest little cunt in the world. Take it easy, now; don't hurry it. Fuck it good and fuck it slow and make it last a long time.
Karen was accustomed to pain now and did not even quiver when he entered her. It was still agony for her; her torn membranes began to bleed afresh and her vagina still felt as if it were being ripped apart. But the pain was not as bad as yesterday, even if her feeling of utter degradation was far stronger. She lay there quietly, absolutely unmoving, passively letting him have his will of her and hoping that death would come as her release.
DeWilde continued his thrusting into her body, concentrating every portion of his being upon the enjoyment of the sensations being created in his organs. He savoured each one of them in turn as he pursued his rhythmic movements in her unwilling body. There-that's the feel of his balls banging against her little asshole. He'd have to fuck her in the asshole, too, some day; bet that's a tight little rosebud. There-that's her curly blonde pussy hair rubbing up against the inside of his thighs. Christ, what a pretty little pussy she has. I'm going to have to suck her off some day, while she sucks me. Usually I don't like to go down on girls because it makes them think they're equals, but I'll suck this little cunt off with pleasure.
That's what we'll do next time, he resolved, as he transferred his concentration to the feeling in the base of his cock shaft. We'll swap sucks. She sucked great yesterday and I'll bet she's even better when she sucks a man all the way off.
Now the base of his cock. That's where the real sensation is. No matter what a girl does to the head of your cock you can't come unless something good is happening to the three or four inches right at the base of the shaft where it comes out of your body.
This was where this little broad excelled. Her tight little twat felt like a big rubber band stretched around his shaft. Every time he drove into her and moved back out again it massaged his shaft, like a skilled cock sucker uses her fingers when blowing a man off.
Oh Jesus, he was getting there now. His cock head was pressed right up against her back from the inside. He could feel the hole in the end of it bottoming out on every in thrust. It would be leaking now; dribbling little drops of semen and sperm into her in preparation for the big thrust. The stuff he was leaking would be flowing around inside her now. It couldn't drain out because he had her hole plugged up so damn tight, like a wine cork driven into a bottle. It was so tight now, what with the fluid he had added, that on every backstroke there was a little suction; a sort of drawing sensation on his whole cock head.
Jesus, that was it: she was so tight she felt like a woman sucking him off; drawing hard on the end of his cock with her lips and tongue, meanwhile massaging his shaft thoroughly with tightly-clenched and encircling fingers. When he banged the hole in it against her spine it felt like a girl's tongue tip thrusting down into it, reaming the hole and seemingly attempting to crawl inside of it.
He hadn't intended to go off so soon but the realization of the similarity in sensation between a skilled blow job and fucking this cunt pushed him over the edge. He had time for only three decisive strokes before he was again erupting in her, gushing his sperm into her very vitals and feeling it squirt back out to drip down between them.
He relaxed, rolling off her more quickly this time. He lay beside her, savoring what it felt like to be utterly drained; have every last drop of his semen pumped out past his prostate and into her uterus. He hadn't been so utterly empty since-well, let's see: when he was sixteen he used to fuck that little thirteen-year-old-Mary, that was it. He'd banged her as many as five times in one day. She used to be able to pump him dry like this one. Last year there had been the authoress, the brunette-Vivienne-who used to suck him off until he couldn't come another drop.
That was all she liked to do, he remembered; just suck and be sucked. Afraid of getting pregnant, probably, and scared to take the pill. He never did decide whether she really liked him, or was just willing to do anything to get published. He'd finally bought a book from her, he remembered, and lost his ass on it.
He winced. No blow job was worth the bundle he dropped on that shitty novel of hers.
He thought back, trying to recall other fucks that even approached this one, and eventually dropped off into a doze.
Karen realized her bladder was bursting and rolled away from the bestial thing laying beside her. She got up, searched until she found the bathroom and sat down to relieve herself. From force of habit she glanced down between her legs. She saw a great mass of white, sticky fluid drain out of her before her urine began to flow. It was some seconds before the muscles of her bladder relaxed enough for her relief to begin and during that time she stared in both fascination and horror as the gooey stuff which DeWilde had twice deposited in her drained out to drip into the water of the bowl.
That was it, she thought. Her ultimate degradation. This filthy, dirty thing called sex had been done to her and it meant that a man wanted to squirt this stuff into you. The books said it was beautiful and exciting and felt wonderful. She knew they were lies, now. It was shameful and degrading and horribly, horribly painful. It made you dirty all the way through; dirty deep inside you where no soap and water could ever reach to wash it out.
Where could she go now and what could she do? She never wanted to see a man again, ever. She couldn't go back to the office. She could never do that job again, because every person there could look at her face and tell what had happened to her.
She thought of Doug. It would be terrible never to see him again. But she couldn't. He'd know instantly what kind of a girl she was now. There was really no point in seeing him anyway. She certainly wasn't going to marry him or any other man. Sex was part of marriage, and she never wanted a man to do sex to her again.
Her mad urge to get away from this house and this horrible man was tempered by a wonderment -where would she go? Back to her apartment, perhaps, but she couldn't stay there. If she just tried to hide inside Doug would come looking for her. She could never face him again. Too, she'd have to come out eventually to buy food, and to make money somehow, and then people on the street would see her.
She couldn't sit here on the toilet any longer. She glanced down again; noticed the water in the bowl was tinged with blood. It had produced a burning sensation when it flowed out of her bladder. That would be the damaged tissue up inside her, she realized. She didn't really care how much she had been injured. What was important right now was to get away. How?
Karen wiped herself and returned to the bedroom. DeWilde was awake now and staring at her.
So smashed was her psyche, so completely degraded was her picture of herself, that she felt no hint of embarrassment to stand in front of him nude. Twenty-four hours before, to stand thus even in front of her doctor would have suffused her with shame. Now, in her deepest subconsciousness was the feeling that her body was no longer of value to anyone, including herself. Her complete nudity meant no more to her than if only her hands or feet were bare.
Another change which had come over her was that she was no longer afraid of DeWilde. True, he might be planning to kill her, but it didn't matter really. It might be a solution to her situation. It might even save her from having to do it herself.
"I'd like to leave here as soon as possible, Mr. DeWilde," she said to him in a perfectly flat voice, staring out of the window at the blue Sound as she spoke.
He was puzzled at her matter-of-factness. He was accustomed to various reactions in this situation. Sometimes it was fulsome praise of his magnificent cock and the great job he had done on them with it. Sometimes they belonged to the you-bastard-wait-till-I-see-my-lawyer school. Sometimes it was an abject query, how soon may I come again?
And sometimes, of course, it was a coy hint that maybe he should furnish an apartment for them and move them in, so that each of them could save all of it for each other. This was the ploy which irritated him most. Dumb broads; did they think he'd even spend good money for it, when he could get all of the fucking he could handle for nothing?
But this one was weird. There she was standing in front of him with her bare ass hanging out behind, her bare quiff hanging out in front, both bare boobs swinging around up at the top, and asking when she could leave as casually as if she were standing in his office asking him if he had any further instructions.
Better get rid of this kook. Keep her under observation for a few weeks before inviting her back. If she seemed stable he might get a good thing going here. His friends would sure think she was great. They'd think him a real winner, if he showed this broad off as his during a party at his house.
"Sure, honey, right away. Let's have some coffee and eggs before we leave, though." He looked at her nakedness and grinned. "I'll find you some clothes around here to wear home. Afraid we got the things you wore down here-a little mussed."
The mention of her destroyed clothing meant nothing to her, as sparse as her wardrobe was. She just wanted to get out of there. In the last few seconds Karen had made up her mind exactly what she would do. Get back to her apartment, go to the makeup box where the cash from yesterday's pay check reposed, pack a few things and get on a Greyhound bus. A bus going anywhere. Boston, or Detroit, it didn't matter. She would have enough cash to live for two or three weeks and she'd find work of some kind. Even if she didn't, the main thing was to get away from here and among strangers. That would give her time to take stock of herself and decide what to do with her life.
DeWilde rose. "Come on into the kitchen with me while I get us something to chew on." She followed him like a trained dog. He was naked; offered her nothing with which to cover herself. Quite uncaring she walked behind him to the kitchen. She stood there passively until he pointed to a chair; sat down in it when he gestured for her to do so.
She watched him as he got coffee, eggs and toast going. "You're quite a girl, Karen," he said to her affably as he worked. "I've never had an experience with anyone like that before. You are an exquisite joy to make love to." DeWilde prided himself that he seldom, if ever, used obscene words in front of either man or woman. Sometimes in the office it was necessary to utter them when they were part of the context of a book, and once in a long while he spoke them to help break in a new reader (as he had done with Karen) but generally his speech was snow-pure.
In his private thoughts, he invariably used mental language as foul as anything to be heard in the most depraved segments of society. To a certain extent it was a form of self-stimulation and, when in the grip of sexual passion, it added to his enjoyment to speak as foully as possible to his partner.
Karen made no reply. His euphemistic phrase "make love to" as a reference to what he had done to her failed to impinge upon her consciousness. He pursued it a little further as the eggs sizzled.
"Have you had a lot of lovers, Karen?" he asked. "I'll bet a beautiful girl like you has been beating boys off with a stick ever since she was ten."
In her depressed condition the question didn't matter and neither did answering it. "I've never had a lover," she said flatly.
DeWilde was startled. "Well, not a lover, then, but many sexual experiences?"
"I never had a sexual experience of any kind," still in the same dead tone.
He almost spattered hot grease on his bloated belly.
"Are you trying to convince me that yesterday was the first time that you-that you were a-well, virgin?" The word was so completely incredible in the world in which DeWilde lived that somehow he was embarrassed to utter it.
Without rancor, without emotion of any kind, she replied: "I'm not trying to convince you of anything, Mr. DeWilde. It's the truth, but if you don't believe me it doesn't matter."
Even as exhausted as his cock was, it gave a little twitch where it hung between his legs at the admission. Sweet sufferin' Christ, no wonder it had been such a sweat to get it into her. She was a fucking virgin. That had been a real genuine hymen he had popped when he rammed her. Jesus, he hadn't had a virgin for-my God, since high school days. The last cherry he took was Mabel Calhoun, when she was fifteen years old and he was nineteen. She had screamed like this girl did when he put it into her and his cock was nowhere nearly so big then as it is today. He remembered she had raised hell the first time, and then thought it was pretty good the second and, after their fourth or fifth trick, she had gotten to be a nuisance following him around and begging for it all the time that in disgust he had turned her over to a buddy of his to keep fucked.
He'd never had a cherry since then. He didn't think girls were even born as virgins any more. Now here was a real live one, or had been, and nobody had ever shot stuff into it except him.
He was every thoughtful as he served her and sat down beside her to eat. There could be a lot of problems here, and yet maybe there might be a lot of fun.
DeWilde's calculating mind clicked off the possibilities as he munched his toast in silence. If she ran to a lawyer Monday morning and screamed rape, it might be expensive. Sometimes it took fifteen or twenty thousand dollars to get a broad to shut up. If she complained to the police it would be easier. They were much less expensive to buy off than a smart lawyer. A new car or something like that made them decide there was "insufficient evidence" in a hurry.
That she might be pregnant was trivial. An abortion cost only a few hundred dollars these days and he could see that she had one whether she wanted to or not. Then, a grand or two for a trip abroad would settle that.
On the other hand, there was the possibility that she might be a smart enough broad to realize where her best interests lay. Another trick or two with him and she might decide that fucking wasn't so bad after all. And what a hit she'd be at one of his parties. Just to show her off and let them know that this one had been cherry and he'd gotten it would be the hit of the season. Guests would be green with envy when he told how tight it was and how regularly he was getting it.
She'd get over that screaming soon enough, he was sure. That little thing of hers would stretch to fit his cock, as they always did. He thought with grim humor of the old saying, a cunt will stretch a mile before it will tear an inch.
He noticed Karen had eaten the eggs and toast he had placed before her; mechanically, stoically, but she had eaten. He cleared his throat and asked in the most casual of manners:
"Do we have to hurry? I mean, is there anyone at home waiting for you?"
"No. I live alone."
A pause. "Did you mention to anyone that you were coming out here?"
An older, wiser woman would have replied, sure, I told everyone in the office you told me to come out here and if I'm not back pretty soon a hundred cops will be out here looking for me. Instead, she simply answered:
"No. I don't have anyone to tell."
DeWilde cautioned himself take it easy; explore this thoroughly now to make sure there won't be any unpleasant surprises. While she was in this passive mood, get every bit of information to be had.
"You haven't been in New York very long, have you? It must be a lonesome life for a young girl."
"Yes."
"Have you made any friends?" he prodded.
"No. I haven't met a soul except the people at the office and I only know them to say hello to." Something inside her kept her from mentioning Doug Morgan; shame, perhaps, that she was no longer worthy of him. Maybe she felt protective of Doug; was subconsciously afraid DeWilde might do something to him for being friendly with her; for dating her.
DeWilde made his decision. Karen was going to stay with him for a time. She was going to meet his friends he was going to show her off, and maybe if they were good guys and things were just right he might let them sample a little of that delicious ass; in exchange, of course, for a sample of the ass they brought with them.
He leaned back and relaxed for a second, the decision made, then stood up and smiled at her. "Why don't you do these dishes up, Karen, while I take care of a couple of other things?"
She immediately arose and began to clear. He strode from the room, returned in a few seconds with the remnants of her clothing from the day before which he stuffed into the chute of the kitchen incinerator, gave her a friendly pat on the fanny as she stood at the sink and again left.
Karen finished the dishes and wandered into the living room. She found DeWilde seated at the desk in the study alcove in front of the phone, a small black notebook in his hand. He was fully dressed in blue denim yachting trousers, a knit sports shirt and deck shoes. He lifted his head and looked at her as she entered. The fact that he was now clad made her conscious of her own nakedness.
"Please, Mr. DeWilde, isn't there something I could put on? I'll have to have something to wear home."
He waved his hand airily. "Oh, we'll get you something to wear when the time comes. I want you to spend a few days with me, or maybe longer, so that we can get to know each other better and you can meet some of my friends. Meanwhile, I love to look at you walking around that way. You have a beautiful body."
Her hands had moved to cover herself in the universal gesture of naked women the world over-one arm across her breasts, the other hand dropped down to conceal her patch of loveliness.
"Please, Mr. DeWilde, just give me anything-one of your robes-anything. I'll make it do to get me home."
DeWilde's expression darkened a bit. He spoke more firmly.
"Listen, Karen, I said I wanted you to spend a few days with me and I meant it. I'm going to have some friends in tonight and I'll give you something to put on before they come. Quite a few of my lady friends have left things here from time to time and I'm sure we can find something which will fit."
The voice dropped to a soft, silky smooth tone which was more menacing than his previous bluster had been. "You stay naked because I like to see you that way, and because I won't have to guard you. You won't try to split if you have nothing on your body but your skin."
Karen had known the feeling of helplessness before in her young life; when she had tried to explain to her parents why she simply had to go to New York, when she had been unable to find work in the big city and had been desperate, when she had been unable to pay her rent; but never had she felt it so keenly as now. She couldn't run and she couldn't hide. Frantically she tried to think of a course of action. There was none, she realized. She couldn't leave without clothes, she couldn't run naked to a neighbor's house screaming, because this place was so vast that DeWilde could run her down and beat her before she got more than a few steps into the yard.
Defeat brings with it a measure of resignation, and Karen knew she was hopelessly, utterly defeated. She was a prisoner in this house until DeWilde decided to let her go, and even without his threatening her she knew that to disobey him would mean a terrible beating. It was obvious as the curly black hair which stuck up from the vee of his shirt. She knew that her only way out of here was compliance, and that if she ever did get out alive she could do nothing to get him punished. She couldn't tell the police this awful thing had happened to her. It was too shameful and must forever be kept concealed. What he had done to her would have to be kept as her secret as well as his.
Karen sank into a chair and let her arms drop to her sides, revealing her beauty. What did it matter if he looked at her. Her body was defiled, worthless, and wasn't even worth covering.
DeWilde picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Hello, George?" [Pause] "What are you and Lorraine doing tonight?" [Pause] "Well, I thought I might have some people in tonight... Oh, maybe we might have an auction." [Pause] "Sounds like fun to you?" [Pause] "Oh, seven-thirty or eight, maybe ... So long."
Again the dialing.
"Hello, Bruce? DeWilde here. I'm having an auction at my place tonight." [Pause] "Swell. Who are you going to bring? Barbara? Are you still dating her? Sure, she's very nice and a lot of fun. And Gwen? She's with you, too, this weekend? Well, bring her along. We can always use a couple of spares if they're female. No guys, though. Except you, of course." [Pause] "Fine. See you around eight."
The calls went on, with very few refusals. As Karen listened she somehow knew that something very dreadful was going to take place. On the surface it was all very casual, just a friendly get-together, but there was an unwholesome undertone which made Karen panic.
When he finished his calling, DeWilde turned to her with a pleased expression.
"Well, I guess there will be about thirty people here, more or less, if they all show up." He chuckled. "And I'll bet they do. My crowd very seldom misses a party, let alone one of my auctions."
No response. He went on: "We've got hours yet to fix some snacks and get the bar set up." He looked at her musingly. "You know, I think I've got exactly the right thing for you to wear. Linda wore it once about a year ago, and she was a knockout in it."
Karen shuddered.